The Yard, in Doluhre, capitol of Ulruz

[Arkhandus]

Located in the very bowels of The Arena, The Yard, or The Practice Yard as it is known fondly to some of its patrons, bears every resemblance to any tavern you would see across Aerde. It has deeply scarred tables that have been mended more than once, it has wooden tankards worn smooth from many hands, it even has rushes on the dirt floor to help soak up the numerous spills, ale or blood.The smell of stale beer and unwashed bodies saturates the air. Fights break out regularly, though killing is strictly prohibited. One must practice ones's skills. Occasionally even a bard or two will entertain the crowd 'til the wee hours of the morning. Even with all these simularities, it only takes one look around to know that this is no ordinary tavern.

The first thing you'll notice as you walk in from the exercise yard are the metal bars that seperate the bar keep from the patrons. Next would probably be the balcony, 30 feet up, that surrounds the main floor and that is full of armored men with cross bows. After that would be the lack of tavern wenches to fetch you a new ale or two. And last, and it would be your last, proving that you didn't belong here, would be the patrons themselves.

A more diverse set of patrons cannot be boasted by any tavern in Aerde. Any humanoid that walks on two legs, knuckles not counting, can be seen here, a black orc from the forests north of Lorlynia or a duergar from deep under Thoradur, a kuo-toa from deep under the seas to a yuan-ti from far off Kinrisar. One look and you will realize that most are well muscled and battle scarred or lightning fast with a glib tongue, although you can see a few who look to be practitioners of magic tucked away into the corners. All come here to spend hard won gold and boast of feats done. All come here because it is the only place to go because all who come here are slaves and live only to fight in The Arena.

(cut and paste from the original Yard post by CM Kognus on the old forums)

 

[Arkhandus]

One evening, after a short and easy match in the leagues of freshly-captured slave-gladiators, Seruleus enters The Yard for a drink after his successful match. He would be moving up to the regular-grade matches soon, no longer these pitiful low-class fights. The regal young man enters The Yard and receives the usual glares by curious or rival gladiators.

This ebony-skinned elf has a short shock of white hair covering his head, stylized in a somewhat haphazard but carefully-groomed manner. His dark violet eyes gleam with charm and intelligence, and seem to scan his surroundings constantly. Almost as striking is how muscular and tall this man is, for one of elvenkind. He stands nearly 5 feet tall, and his body is lithe but well-muscled.

Seruleus wears an elaborate, sleeveless mage's robe cut and studded in the style of a noble's clothes, bearing numerous tiny gemstones. The fine robes are various shades of blue, gold, and green, with patterns of great beasts etched in them. Various pieces of minor jewelry adorn him as well; a gilt ruby pendant, silver bracers with obsidian insets, bronze rings studded with tiny emeralds, bronze torcs about his arms with elaborate patterns of interwoven serpents, and a thin platinum circlet about his forehead bearing a gleaming triangular amethyst in the center. Several large pouches hang from his stylized, serpentine-etched black leather belt, and he wears similar black boots. Seruleus wears a fine steel gauntlet on his right arm, inlaid with strips of obsidian and etched with glowing patterns of runes. A well-polished steel broadsword hangs from the left side of his belt in a sturdy gray scabbard, and a short, oaken bow is slung over his back, with a quiver hanging at the right side of his belt.

Of course, dark elves like himself are rarely seen in Aerde, let alone in Ulruz. He is an oddity here, but enjoys the attention as much as he dislikes the other patrons. Seruleus keeps his shoulders level, his back straight, and his demeanor regal, or as much as possible in the smelly, rowdy Practice Yard. He fetches some of what the barkeep generously dubs "wine" and heads for an empty table and bench. It is not long before some riff-raff comes by to harass him.

"Back off lout, I don't wish any trouble. I wouldn't want to transmute that pretty mug of yours into something even uglier. You might scare the audiences away."

The offending bugbear snarls and growls out "I thinks yer face might need the re-arrangin', elfie...!"

 

[Emiricol]

Tralin swaggers in. He's a cocky Human, that's for sure. His muscular form is stronger than most of his race, but his agility matches even most Elves, judging by his gait. He stops by the bar, where he is heartily greeted by the bartender and a few of the shadier characters thereabouts. He exchanges a handshake and a whisper with a goblin, claps his arm, then moves on. He is given an ale by another human, which he drinks happily as he chats with the others.

 

[Delwin]

Ozimal enters and grabs a seat at the bar.There is a few other slaves enjoying some off time from the arena.Ozimal had just claimed a victory in the arena a few days ago.Barely touched in battle this time he feels pretty good.He knows a few other gladiators but none of which are in the tavern at this time.He grabs his ale and takes a long drink.Even though the slaves ale is not the quality of commoners ale, Ozimal enjoys it just the same.

 

[Arkhandus]

Seruleus spins about and strikes the offending bugbear solidly in one temple bare-handed, and the big humanoid teeters from the stunning blow. Seruleus then unleashes a whirlwind series of rapid handstrikes, rendering the big oaf unconscious and bloodied on the floor. The dark elf sits back down with his wine and ignores the unconscious oaf. Other gladiators gape, growl, or sneer, but leave the dark elf alone for now.

 

[crystorix]

A small, wiry man, his arms covered in tattoos, sits at a side table across from a larger, more muscular gladiator. The small man cackles in glee seeing the dark elf so easily subdue the bugbear. He hold his hand open in front of the gladiator. The gladiator snarls, but slaps a few coins into the small man's hand before getting up and storming away.

The small man nods to the dark elf. "Cheers, mate."

 

[Emiricol]

Tralin trudges into the bar, still wounded from the battle of the day. The bartender smiles, offering him an ale, which Tralin gratefully accepts. Some of the humans of Morte Nobilis gather around Tralin, taunting him about his loss - mostly good naturedly.

"Hey Tralin, I heard ya got stomped by a guy who was half the man you are!"
"Oh yeah? Then how'd he get stomped? I'd says it was more like Tralin is half the man that halfling was!"
"Har har har! I always knew Tralin was all talk"

((etcetera))

Tralin smiles to the last one. "You know, Groenhelm, these other guys can give me a hard time and I don't feel no disrespect. You, though... Well, it seems like you might be forgetting your place, my friend." With that, he gives a slight nod - very faint.

Groenhelm smiles, but then looks confused. Slowly, a dribble of blood comes off his lower lip. Looking down in shock and confusion, he seems not to understand the meaning of the dagger now protruding from his ribs. He glances up to Tralin, too far away to have done it, and holds out his hand... then falls slowly over, landing dead at the feet of half a dozen other humans.

Guards enter quickly, but the mass of humans blame a hapless goblin. A few gold to the guards ensures that goblin receives immediate and permanent punishment for the crime.

Watching the guards drag away the corpses, Tralin smiles at the shortest human with a slight nod, then heads to the bar again. "Heya Bartender. Tell ya what, round of drinks for the place on me, and a fat tip for you! I might have lost today, but I kept my life. Know what I mean? Still here, friend."

The bartender smiles and shouts, "Round of drinks, on the human! Free drinks for everyone, courtesy of Tralin!"

As the crowd buzzes with this, fixated on Tralin for the moment, the other humans glide about the room, dispersing and probably taking no few coinpurses from inattentive fellow gladiators as they go.

 

[DMEntropy]

A blue-nosed hobgoblin enters The Yard. Even though it is typically frequented by humans Castus Argentus makes his appearance there. It is clearly written on his face that he is not to be trifled with today. Those that saw his performance against the Mosquitoes with Tralin today know that he is a potent warrior.

Castus arrives in time to benefit from the offer of free drink by Tralin. "Aye, Comrade, at least we survived. I will be sorely pressed to fight alongside another Freeman in the Arena. They just don't understand what it takes to win there."

He takes a seat and scans the room. There are a few open glares which Castus ignores. Several people avert their gaze from his survey. Castus notes who these people are. They are far more dangerous than those that openly his presence here. Today was a powerful reinforcement of the lessons learned about a knife in the back.

"So, Tralin, what are your prospects now? If I didn't know better, I would guess that you or I has offended someone important. Or the masters of our stable have."

 

[Emiricol]

Tralin nods in greeting to Castus. Though his body language isn't exactly warm, there's certainly a grudging respect there. "Aye, that could be. The fights do seem to be getting a bit tougher than usual... Maybe one of my friends can put a quiet word in to the stablemaster and see what comes of it."

Tralin knows that Castus, being the race of both slave masters and most of the gladiators in Ulruz, has few friends in The Yard, but after today's display in the Arena he doubts Castus needs the security of being seen with himself to stay safe in The Yard.

"That freelancer, he fought well enough I suppose. Most o' those contract fighters just aren't really trained for arena battles, so he did better than most I've seen. But those Mosquitos fought with coordination and group tactics, and our side wasn't as good at that. I take great pleasure in hearing you sent one to the grave, Castus."

 

[DMEntropy]

Castus grunts in acceptance of Tralin's wary respect. "If he would have quit trying to be fancy and just skewered one of those nasty hin I might have stood a chance at the end."

He takes a long drink and continues, "Besides, you did most of the work on that one. He was gravely injured and knocked down at my feet. I just sent him on his merry way."

There is silence for a while and Castus breaks it, "You fought well yourself. They clearly used dishonorable tactics to overwhelm you. Despite that you held your ground and fought with honor." A bit more time passes and he adds, "I wanted to get to your potions to keep you alive. That is what frustrated me the most about the other one. With his help we could have controlled that fight long enough to ensure I could do that. You would be a good comrade in paired fighting." Castus appears a bit embarrassed at this point.